Page 62 of Bound in Blood

Marco.

Fuck,Marco!

Mateo turned so fast he nearly fell over. His brother was on the ground, still unmoving. Too pale and too still. Mateo reached out, holding his hand over his brother’s nose and mouth, feeling for breath thatwasn’t fucking coming.

Mateo’s vision swam. He collapsed beside his brother, his hand reaching for Marco’s wrist. “Marco?” He clutched his brother’s hand, a hand that had gone way too cold. “Marco, wake up,” he begged, but his voice sounded slurred and wrong. Was this what dying felt like? Why was he in so much pain? The man had barely bitten him.

Marco wasn’t moving, and Mateo was dying, and at least if they were going to go, they’d go together. Mateo turned his headinto Marco’s shoulder, holding his hand as tight as his weakened state would allow. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, before everything went black.

He woke up sometime later fuckingstarving.

Not the kind of hunger he’d become accustomed to. The dull ache of skipping one too many meals or the gnawing emptiness of eating too little for too long.

This was… something else.

It was sharp and clawing. It invaded his veins and bones and organs. Like his whole body had been hollowed out, and now all that was left was an empty void.

And something smelled… fucking delicious.

Mateo couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Only act.

Vaguely, he thought he heard a scream. Vaguely, he felt himself bite down, and then…

Warmth.

It rushed down his throat in thick, heady waves. Warm, rich, decadent, perfect. Better than any food he’d ever tasted, better than anything he’d ever experienced. If he had to choose between this taste, and oxygen, he’d suffocate to death as a happy man.

Something twitched and jerked against him, like a cat that was no longer content with being held. It scratched weakly at his arms, but he barely registered it.

Everything inside him screamedmore, more, more.

All too fast, the warmth faded. The source, whatever it was, tapped out. There was no scratching at his arms.

When blackness overcame him again, Mateo’s last thought was of when he could get another taste.

The next time Mateo woke, his head was killing him. A deep, skull-splitting kind of pain, like his brain was trying its best to tear its way out. He groaned, bringing a hand up to his temple, trying his best to block out the overwhelmingeverything.

The smells, the sounds. All too fucking much.

His stomach lurched, and he was pretty sure he was in more pain than just his head at some point, but there were so many sensations crashing into him that he couldn’t focus.

Slowly, he sat up, his muscles groaning in protest. His limbs felt like they didn’t belong to him, like they were made of lead. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open andfuck…

That was a huge mistake.

Everything snapped back into focus at once. Too clear, too sharp. The shadows in the alley had detail. He could point out every imperfection in the cobblestone. Every bit of texture and dust stuck out as if someone had outlined them with a fine brush.

His stomach lurched again.

He breathed in hard through his nose, trying to give his brain some fucking oxygen. And that was another mistake.

Because of thesmell.

Metal, sweat, rot.Blood.It clung to his nose, coating his tongue, making something he couldn’t name but didn’t like curl deep within his gut.

Mateo swayed a bit from his sitting position. Blinked again.

Why had he been napping in an alley? Hadn’t he and Marco been trying to catch the next train out of the country?